Lies Are Meant to Cover Up the Truth
by RikaFurude13
Summary: Erik Crawford, a former police officer, has moved to Goldsburg to finally achieve his dream: opening a music school. But his past begins to catch up with him, and he gets himself roped into something far more serious than it seemed on the outside. AU
1. Chapter 1

AN: Hello! This is my first Phantom of the Opera story, and I really hope you enjoy it! I used Crawford for Erik's last name... I know... it's soooo creative *sarcasm*. Anywho, this is set closer to modern times. Not exactly 2012 modern, more like 1980's modern. I was always rather fond of that time period... ahem. I do not own Phantom of the Opera, the great Mr. Gaston Leroux does. However I am using Andrew Lloyd-Webber's Erik design, so that belongs to him too. Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter 1

"Hello, Mr. Crawford! So glad to meet you!" Mr. Jean Clyde was a short, balding man with a bushy grey mustache and beady eyes. He wore a plum-coloured velvet suit that clashed horribly with his bright yellow tie. He held out one stout hand to the other man, who grasped it firmly in greeting.

"Likewise, Mr. Clyde." Erik Crawford stared at the realtor straight in the eyes with a business-like demeanor. He was the opposite of Mr. Clyde in almost every way. Erik was tall, with neatly combed black hair and piercing blue-green eyes filled with a brightness and maturity. He was dressed in all black, save for the intimidating white mask that adorned the right half of his face.

"Oh please, Mr. Crawford, call me Jean." Jean smiled and led Erik into the large building. Erik looked around at the gorgeous complexity of the interior; rich dark mahogany walls, golden pillars, ivory staircases. It looked like a palace to someone who had lived in an apartment building for most of his music career.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Jean remarked, enjoying the look of admiration on Erik's face, for that meant he might buy it and get the old place off of his hands.

"Yes," Erik answered. He was utterly humbled at the sight before him.

"I'll show you some more, come on," urged Jean, gesturing with his hand as he led them further into the building and out of the grad foyer. He let Erik feast his eyes on the ornate hallways, showing him the costume and prop storage areas, and multiple ballet dressing and practice rooms. There were also empty rooms that didn't seem like they were ever used for any purpose at all. Erik viewed every aspect of the building with absolute awe, unable to believe that such a beautiful place even existed, and at a very affordable price, also!

"This place... it's perfect," said Erik. Jean merely smiled, continuing to lead Erik through the intricately decorated building.

"There has to be a catch..." Erik remarked jokingly.

"None that I can think of, dear sir!" Jean chuckled. "Not only is this place... impressive, it has a rather intriguing story to go with it."

Erik looked over to Jean curiously. "What do you mean? What story?"

Jean stopped walking, his smile unfaltering. "This place isn't some ordinary building."

"Clearly," Erik interjected.

Jean nodded. "It used to be an opera house. It was called the Opera Garnier. Very popular in the late 1800's, I'd say."

Erik's eyes widened. "So... this building is about one-hundred years old?"

"That would be correct. Anyway, while this place was in its prime, there was often talk of an 'opera ghost', more specifically, 'the phantom of the opera'."

"The phantom of the opera?"

"Yes. Apparently, this guy micromanaged the entire business, but people rarely saw him, which is why they refer to him as a ghost."

Erik narrowed his eyes at this bit of news. "That's certainly... interesting..."

"Of course," agreed Jean. "The mystery of the opera ghost is probably a factor in their success. The Opera Garnier's, I mean."

"Well... the public always loved a good mystery. That much hasn't changed, for sure..." Erik mused, thinking. Jean began walking again.

"Ah, here's a place that hasn't changed much at all!" Jean said excitedly, stopping in front of a simple wooden door with a gilt doorknob. Jean turned it and opened the door, revealing the interior. He and Erik stepped in, with Erik observing the room inquisitively.

Mot of the room was decorated rather lavishly, with pink being the main colour, combined with various mauves and golds. In Erik's opinion, that part of the décor was extremely gaudy, and would probably only appeal to a rich noblewomen with small poodles and ruffled dresses. He looked to a painting on the wall, framed ornately. He seemed to be correct about the rich woman with a poodle assumption; the painting depicted a grandly dressed lady in pink with cascading red curls down her back. Some of her hair was piled on top of her head, and she wore a pink hat that did not go well with her hair in the slightest. In her arms was a black poodle with a pink bow. In the background, there was the very room they were standing in, but it seemed even more richly decorated, if that was even possible.

"Who is that?" Erik asked.

Jean following Erik's gaze and he stared at the painting also. "Oh, I know who she is, but her name eludes me."

"I take it that this was her dressing-room?"

"Yep. She was the leading soprano for about the last five years of the Opera Garnier's business. Many people seemed to love her performances, all except for the actual staff and the opera ghost himself."

There was that ghost thing again! Erik's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"She was a diva in _every _sense of the word. Snobbish, high-and-mighty, and many of the old reports say she sung rather 'overzealously' and 'obnoxiously'."

"I can imagine," Erik inwardly cringed, trying to imagine what the nameless diva was like.

Jean chuckled, as Erik turned his attention to the darker part of the room, which was decorated with more brown and ivory things that the rest of it. A small table with a vase and mirror was pushed up against the wall; Erik assumed it was for hair and make-up purposes. The colours in this portion of the room appealed much more to the taller man. Jean saw him observing in that direction and smiled.

"That part of the room was probably for that one girl who was briefly the lead soprano, right before the Opera Garnier went out of business. I've heard that she was a mere ballet girl, but the opera ghost gave her the opportunity to be a star. Caused a lot of stir, that did."

"She certainly had better taste," Erik remarked, which was met with good humour by Jean. Did that guy ever stop smiling? He reeked of desperation and bad cologne, and Erik knew all Jean wanted was to sell the building and get on with his day.

"I agree with you there." Jean watched as Erik stepped further into the room, pausing by a dress mannequin to gaze into a dusty mirror. He reached up and caressed the simple wooden frame. Although the mirror was quite dirty and plain, Erik found it to be the most beautiful thing he'd seen so far.

"Pretty nice mirror, huh?" asked Jean, standing next to Erik. "It's strange though... every time I look into it, I get a strange feeling. Almost like I'm being watched."

Now it was Erik's turn to chuckle. "Who knows, maybe it's the opera ghost," he said, moving past Jean to stand in the doorway to the room. "Care to continue the tour?"

Jean gulped, looking into the mirror for a few moments longer before plastering his usual smile on his face and following Erik out. "There's just one last place for me to show you," he said, taking the lead. "Follow me."

He led the masked man through two elaborate golden doors, and Erik couldn't help but gasp at the sight.

It had to be the most gorgeous and auditorium he had ever seen. The seats were upholstered with red velvet, the boxes had an intricate gold accent that went nicely with the brown wood that made up the walls. The room was huge; it would sit well over a thousand people. Erik then turned his attention to the stage. It was also large, with eaves along the edge that must have originally held candles to illuminate the stage with a soft glow.

"Wow..." Erik whispered, looking at the ceiling, which depicted angels and clouds on a sky-blue background. The only thing which made the room less than perfect was a large hole in the ceiling; Erik could see right through it into the dusty rafters beyond.

"It was restored just a few years ago. Took quite the budget... probably the most expensive job they had ever done, considering the sheer amount of damage," said Jean.

"What happened?" Erik asked, his curiosity piqued.

"It was the disaster that ended the Opera Garnier's career. The opera ghost, as I said before, controlled the entire business. There were these two managers that, unlike previous ones, were extremely skeptical about the whole ghost thing. The managers ignored the commands and instructions of the opera ghost. I guess that their 'disobedience' angered the ghost, and he cut the rope of the chandelier that used to hang over this very stage." He gestured up to the hole in the ceiling.

Erik frowned. "That sounds horrible."

"Yeah. It would have been frightening, being in the audience at that time."

"Wait. The chandelier fell during a performance?"

Jean nodded. "The opera was called 'Don Juan Triumphant', or something like that. The opera ghost had written it himself, and its debut performance was on the night he cut the chandelier down."

Erik furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Why would he ruin the first performance of his own opera?"

Jean shrugged. "Perhaps it wasn't good enough? Well, anyway, the chandelier actually killed a few people and injured many others. The chandelier started a huge fire that completely ravaged the auditorium and several adjacent rooms."

"This restoration much have been a huge job, then," observed Erik, taking another look around.

"It was. Luckily, it was only the auditorium that was destroyed. Even so, the Opera Garnier was never able to pull itself out of that rut, and it went out of business."

"It looks nice now, though. I really like it."

"May I ask, Mr. Crawford, what you are planning to use this building for, if you buy it?" inquired Jean.

"I am looking to open a school of music. Music has always been one of my passions," Erik answered.

"Oh, you are a music teacher?"

Erik nodded. "I used to do private lessons from my apartment in addition to my job as a police officer."

"That's very interesting. Well... anywho... unless you want to see sixteen more floors of dressing rooms and such, do you want to buy it now?" Jean asked hopefully, hoping that the ghost stories hadn't scared the mask man away from the deal.

"I was planning on looking over a few more properties today, but none of them would be remotely as grand as this place. I'd love to buy it."

Jean smiled brightly. "Excellent." He led Erik out of the auditorium, and to a smaller room which was clearly an office. "This used to be the office of the opera house managers. Quite a proper place for our business transaction, isn't it?"

Erik nodded, taking a seat in front of the old desk as Jean sat behind it, procuring a few papers from his coat.

"Just sign here, you can turn in your payments monthly."

Erik frowned. "Actually, I'd rather pay off the entire thing now." He got out his checkbook, writing the full amount on it and handing it to Jean before signing the papers.

Jean looked surprised, but shrugged. "Well, it's yours now," he said happily.

"Thank you," Erik said as Jean showed himself out and handed Erik the keys to the front door.

"Good luck!" Jean called before driving away, leaving Erik with his newest establishment.

Erik smiled, admiring the grandeur of the former opera house. However, he got the feeling that there was much more to the opera ghost's story than he knew...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A quiet whimpering sound filled the freezing, white room. The walls were cracked and the windows were small and barred, letting the bitter cold air swirl around the two shivering forms on the thin, flat cot that served as their bed. One girl had long, tangled curly brown hair to her waist. Her skin was pale from the cold, her teeth slightly chattering and her stormy blue eyes closed. She was hugging the girl next to her to conserve warmth and comfort her. This girl's straight blonde hair was clumped with her own blood, her tears making marks on her dirty face.

"I-i-i-it hurts..." the blonde whimpered, fighting back her sobs through her incessant shivering.

"I kn-n-now, Meg. I-it'll get b-b-better soon, d-don't worry..."

"A-at least my p-pain will g-go away... Wh-what about y-you, Christine? Y-yours w-w-will never s-subside...," Meg said quietly, feeling pity for her already damaged friend.

"S-shh..." Christine ran her fingers through Meg's tangled locks. She hugged her closer. "T-try to get some s-s-sleep, b-before-"

A loud, garish bell rang through her words and both girls jumped, groaning slightly as the familiar sound made their heads hurt, adding to their previous pains. The bell was high-pitched and extremely loud; it was probably rang before the speakers to enhance its call. It created a rhythm of three consecutive tones, signaling the marches that the patients were forced to undertake about three or four times a day. When the 'lead doctor' of the hospital was in a particularly foul mood, they could end up marching for hours on end without any breaks.

Christine immediately stood and helped Meg get up. Christine couldn't believe that Meg was hardly expected to participate in the march after her 'operation' a few hours earlier. It was beyond cruel!

"I-it's alright, Christine, I can m-manage," Meg said tiredly, her shivering becoming worse when Christine moved away from her. She leaned onto Christine heavily for support, as she began to hop slowly, squeezing her eyes shut.

Christine doubted what she said, definitely, but persisted, leading Meg out of the room to join the hundred-or-so people out in the hallways. Several of their companions looked at Meg with a mixture of pity and utter disbelief at what had happened to her. Meg put a forced smile on her face, to try to convey to her fellow patients that it wasn't that bad.

The large group filed out into a large circular room, alabaster white with harsh artificial light brightening the room unnaturally. Sunlight was something that the patients hadn't seen in a long time, and none of them expected to any time soon. Living in that hospital was a bleak existence, and it didn't seem like it would ever get better. Everybody lined up, Meg being held up by Christine and a man named Jack whose entire right arm was dyed a deep cobalt blue. He winced at the pressured applied to his weaker arm, but didn't complain. Christine gave him a grateful glance and he smiled assuredly. Meg's eyes were still closed, trying to ignore the pain on her left side.

Some of the patients chattered quietly amongst themselves, trying to make the situation seem better than it actually was. These side conversations rarely helped, but Christine was glad to see that nobody had given up all hope as of yet. However, all remotely good moods vanished as the lead doctor came into the room. She was dressed grandly, like a lady of high society, obviously poking fun at the patients who donned tasteless yellow-coloured outfits. Christine couldn't help but feel self-conscious as she looked down at her own clothing, which was quickly becoming too small, the hemline reaching to just below her knees.

The lady's orange high-heeled shoes made a sharp clacking sound against the cold concrete floor as she came to a stop in front of the line of her patients. She adjusted her pink fur overcoat that went horribly with her orange dress as she scrutinised the group. She let her eyes scan the line, as she finally stopped at Meg, her heavily red lipsticked lips curling into a triumphant sneer.

"Well, well," she said, her voice high and brash, like nails scraping down a chalkboard. "I didn't expect dear Meg to join us today... however are you going to march in your condition?" She made a face of mock concern, though her eyes were bright with malice and cruelty. "Oh, I wouldn't think of making you do such a thing, sweetheart!"

Meg glared back at the colourful lady, aware of everybody turning their attention to her.

"Ooh, feisty, aren't you, Miss Giry?" The lady laughed, her hands occupying the space by her head, revealing her sharp blood-red nails that had marred the faces of so many defiant patients, including Christine. She ran her hands through her wavy, salon-professional red hair, smirking. "For that, I am going to make you march today, despite your pitiful condition."

Christine didn't feel any surprise. She knew that the doctor wouldn't have excused Meg from the marches, even if she was missing two legs. Meg frowned a little more, and Christine felt pure fury at the evil witch of a doctor brought her friend's hopes up like she did. Meg obviously believed that the greedy lady was going to grant her leave, even though, in the back of her mind, she knew better.

"Today, I'm feeling generous, so I will have you walk only one hour today, and then you are to go back into your rooms until breakfast-time tomorrow. Understand?"

The group gave a "yes" in unison and she nodded.

"Good. Start marching." The sound of her heels added to the pounding of Christine's head as she walked away, likely to her room to observe them and make sure they keep out of trouble. Not for the first time that day, Christine was worried. The concrete beneath their bare feet had wires running across it in a tightly knit grid pattern, creating slight ridges. The cold floors were bad enough, but if the 'doctor' felt that they weren't going quickly enough, she would heat up the wires from pleasantly warm to scalding hot to force the patients to go faster. Most of them did once she did that, if only to keep their feet off of the burning ground as much as they could.

Meg had undergone a cruel 'operation' just a few hours earlier, just one of hundreds that their jailer, of sorts, had performed personally on the patients in their wing of the hospital. Christine had hers about a year ago, and was scheduled in for something else soon, she knew. Meg's experiment was having her left leg cut off entirely, without anesthesia or medication of any kind. It was excruciating, Christine imagined, and seeing her friend getting thrown into their room, sobbing and bleeding... it was almost too much for her to bear. She had gotten one of their spare uniforms and tied up Meg's wound, holding her, not caring if any of the blood stained her. Meg was resorted to hopping, and if they didn't go fast enough... putting her friend through more pain urged Christine to quicken their pace, glad that Meg didn't complain.

Meg laid her head on Christine's shoulder, breathing heavily as Jack helped from the other side. Most of the patients were clumped together in groups, finding it easier to march when there were friends to speak to, to get their minds off of the monotony of the task, and the freezing air that pushed its way through the thin fabric of their uniforms. Christine rubbed Meg's shoulder while she was walking, sensing Meg getting tired. Meg was strong, especially considering their current situation; she was, in fact, the most physically able of all of the girls there, having a rich athletic background. But even she tired quickly at having to hop as quickly as she could, despite Jack and Christine's help.

They started to slow, to Christine's horror, Meg muttering an apology as she tried to get back to speed again. It wasn't working, and Meg seemed to be on the verge of collapse if her friends weren't still hanging on to her. They were now at a leisurely pace, and Christine only prayed that the 'doctor' wasn't paying attention to them.

It seemed as luck was on their side at the moment, though, for the wires weren't heating up yet, and Christine kept hoping that the lady's gaze didn't fall on them until Meg got some of her strength back yet. Suddenly, the floor began heating up, and Meg let out a soft whimper as Christine began to panic. She urged Meg to start moving again, another patient named Jonathan coming up to them and assisting them. Christine gave another grateful smile to the new helping hand, and he smiled back. The metal that the 'doctor' had replaced his teeth with was gleaming in the bright light. Christine was far from feeling afraid at his appearance anymore, because Jonathan, although burly and deep-voiced, was actually a big ol' teddy bear, and he tried helping whenever he could.

Their pace quickened again, Christine trying to ignore the pain in her feet as the wires shut off. There was a whole other hour of this, the wires being activated only once more, before Christine and Meg fell onto their cot, heaving in exhaustion, but glad that their movement had at least warmed them up a little. The door locked itself and the 'doctor's coo echoed over the speakers: "Good night, my little angels."

Christine and Meg curled up to each other to conserve warmth, and quickly fell asleep.

"How are you today, my cara?" Ubaldo Piangi smiled at his girlfriend, who had just entered his office in all of her fiery red-haired glory after she finished supervising the latest march. She gave him small peck on the lips before answering.

"I am fabulous, especially after seeing you, tesoro. I had to perform surgery today, though, and it saddened me greatly. You remember dear old Meg Giry, yes?"

Piangi nodded. The girl had been very remarkable when he had met her. It was unfortunate that Piangi had only had the pleasure of conversing with her once.

"Well, the poor dear got an infection in her leg. I gave her antibiotics and did everything I could... but in the end, to stop it from spreading, I had to amputate her leg," Carlotta Giudicelli informed the smaller man. False concern dripped from her tone and expression, but Piangi did not notice anything out of the ordinary.

"Oh my goodness! Is she alright?" His concern was genuine.

Carlotta nodded, putting on a mask of relief. "She is slumbering in her warm bed now with her companion."

Piangi sighed. "That's good. I'm sure that she will get better soon, cara, with you meticulously taking care of her."

Carlotta smiled. "Of course. I do so very much care about them."

"I know you do, cara. I shall see you at home?" he asked, joviality flooding his face.

"Absolutely. Toodle-oo, my dear love, my Piangi!" she crooned, before vacating his office to head to her own.

Once she got there, she sat down and grinned maliciously. Carlotta had reveled in the screams of the blonde henchwoman of that demon: Christine Daae. She knew she could hurt the source whenever she wanted, but she also knew that if she made Christine's friends suffer... it would get to that little wretch much deeper than any knife.

Eight years, Christine had been at the hospital. The _Mental Institution for Troubled Individuals_. The asylum, located in Goldsburg, was one of many in the area, but it was the most competent. Meg had only been there four years, a scant amount of time compared to some of the elders who had lived for multiple decades. They were both sixteen, and proving to be a handful. But Christine Daae was the real problem. Put in the institution by her stepmother when she was eight, all so the Lady Daae could get a hefty sum for her daughter's imprisonment... Carlotta had to admit, that story was a little sad, and she couldn't help but feel pity for the girl when Manager Lefevre handed the bills to Lady Daae as Christine stood by, ashen-faced. But that was when Carlotta was a much... softer woman, and didn't know how much the freak-show business actually gained her, money-wise. And when Christine proved to be more than just the crazy, meek daughter of a famous violinist and a fashion designer... Carlotta's pity soon turned to boiling frustration and anger.

Eight years, and Christine had attempted to escape more times than Carlotta could count. She never succeeded, but she had been the cause for three of Carlotta's best freaks' escapes. She lost a lot of money when they were gone, and Carlotta was furious. She was originally Piangi's patient, but was transferred to Carlotta after about the fifth time a nurse had gotten bitten by the wild brunette. Carlotta had only experimented on her once, because during the first 'operation', Carlotta nearly fell right into a pile of assorted sharp implements due to a hefty push by Christine.

But now it seemed as if Carlotta would be able to put an end to the little devil once and for all... by turning her attentions to her sweet little friend instead. The new managers of the institution, Richard Firmin and Gilles Andre, were aware of her freak-show business and delighted in the money that rolled in. They helped keep it a secret from the police and public eye for all of the years they had been in business. But most importantly, they helped keep it from Piangi.

Oh, what he would say if he knew what Carlotta was doing now, all of the lies she had told. Carlotta chuckled to herself, filing her nails and leaning back in her chair. Carlotta did love him, but she loved money more. She would not fail to cast him aside if he did anything to hinder the generous cash flow that the freak-show brought her. Piangi's devotion to his work was something Carlotta admired, and he would greatly disagree with her experimentation on every one of her patients. Which was why she lied.

Carlotta let her thoughts turn to a sale that was being held in the most expensive department store that weekend, not wanting to dwell on the subject of the infamous Christine Daae any longer.

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AN: (Sniff) So sad! If you were wondering where in the heck Christine was at, well... here you go! Definitely not a place I'd like to be in... that's for sure. Thanks for reading!


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